


little brother, little sister

by AllMustSuffertoBecomePure



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Character Parallels, Cycle of Abuse, Dark, During Canon, F/M, Gen, Hordak-centric (She-Ra), Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Missing Scene, Nudity, Other, Poor Catra (She-Ra), Shared Trauma, Soft Hordak (She-Ra), Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Touch Aversion, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllMustSuffertoBecomePure/pseuds/AllMustSuffertoBecomePure
Summary: “Even you can be big brother to the littlest among us.”Horde Prime calls upon the clone once known as Hordak to prepare Catra for her purification ritual.-The darker stuff is more implied than graphic, but please heed the tags for subject matter. Comments welcome.
Relationships: Catra & Hordak (She-Ra), Catra & Horde Prime Clones (She-ra), Hordak & Horde Prime (She-Ra)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 168
Collections: Hordak & Catra





	1. Noise

In all of the known universe, there is no uglier sound than that of a cat in distress.

The little brother tries not to let it disturb his Peace as he heads towards the source of the noise, through the hallowed halls of the Velvet Glove. “Little brother” is what Lord Prime calls him, even though he is no longer a young clone, and physically indistinguishable from any other (with his clothes on.) His hood is up, signifying he has been called to a special purpose: to prepare their new “little sister” for her purification ritual. The sister is indeed “little”, by far the physically smallest among them, but it makes the label for himself all the more mystifying.

Not that he would ever question Lord Prime’s judgement, only seek to understand it better.

He knows about her the way he knows the definitions of most things. She is of a humanoid feline species, 157.48 centimeters tall, 21 standard cycles of age (older than many of his brothers, some of whom are only days out of the vitrine.) He cannot picture her face, though he knows she was there when he arose from the purification pool, before his fresh mind had fully adjusted. His only accessible memory of her is when she jumped on his back and thrust her hand into his neck port, which still aches. She had then used his unconscious body to abduct their honored guest and eject her into the vacuum of space. He had been the Purest of brothers for but a day.

But Lord Prime is merciful. He has forgiven the little brother for his failure to protect the queen and called him to have pity for their wayward little sister. She is not made in Prime’s image, her imperfect body more susceptible to corruption, but his guidance will save her from her own wickedness and all will be forgiven.

And the little brother has been called upon to help.

* * *

**“It may prove to be a more arduous task than it seems. You may find yourself tested by her mere presence.”** They were alone. No attendants. **“Do not allow anything to tarnish your newly purified heart.”**

He pressed his forehead against the floor. “I will do as you have commanded, Lord Prime.”

 **“That is not all I command you to do, little brother. I have a second - secret - task for you, which can be done by no other brother.”** A metal talon traced the port on the back of his aching neck. **“A chance to regain the honor she took from you.”**

He breathed. “ ... anything, Lord Prime.”

Big Brother placed a talon under his chin and raised it to look upon his beauty. The little brother knelt before him, petrified. **“I wish you to ... persuade our little sister to enter the purification pool of her own freewill. As you did.”**

Indeed, forcing the ritual would result in an imperfect merger into the hivemind. Especially as the objective was to not only apply a guidance chip - a simple enough procedure - but purify her and take her into the flock as one of their own. Perhaps even as a potential vessel.

Humbled, the little brother tried to avert his gaze, but Big Brother’s hands were unyielding. “My lord, I am weak in temperament and eloquence. I struggle with patience and courtesies even amongst my own brothers. I am no longer even a perfect reflection of your beauty. How am _I_ to persuade anyone?”

 **“She is not unlike you once were. I have cleansed you of your afflictions, but you still bear the scars.”** Talons stroked his hair and traveled downwards. He shivered. **“You more than any other understand the desire to be purified, and must find a way to make her desire the same. If words fail you, there are other ways to guide her.”**

“I do not understand … I cannot guide anyone the way you can.”

Big Brother enfolded him in his powerful arms, holding his head against the skin of his bare chest. **“Even you can be big brother to the littlest among us.”** His heart beat much steadier than his own. **“You will know what to do when the time comes.”**

* * *

The yowling grows louder as he approaches the Chamber of Restraint. It has never been his favorite room on the flagship (that would be the laboratory) and Prime in his mercy has rarely assigned him to it. Inside it contains a variety of furniture and instruments for encouraging humility, but the first task will require only a simple pair of shears.

As he enters, he soon sees the source of the cacophony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my understanding (based on the word of the creators) that Catra was “around 17 or 18” in season 1 and around 3 years have passed by the end of Season 4, therefore in her 20s by Season 5.
> 
> It felt to me like there was some creepy subtext going on with Prime and his cult in Season 5. This fic is my way of working though Hordak's part in it, as well as bringing some resolution to his relationship with the Cat before she is saved.


	2. Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Sexually abusive and degrading treatment of a prisoner, implied threat of rape

She is naked, hands bound above her, with her tail tucked between her legs. Her back is to him, head down, ears flat, as two of his brothers rinse her with a hydro-hose. The one in front concentrates the stream of water on her nether regions, spraying her tail out of the way, and her yowls turn to whimpers. 

“Brothers, is this the will of Lord Prime or your own?”

The water stops, but the whimpers continue more quietly. “It is his will for us to prepare her for the ritual. She was decreed too filthy for the sacred pool.” This clone is either just out of the vitrine or recently purified. His perfect non-expression stirs envy in the little brother.

“And she sheds.” The other, the one holding the hose, has the hint of a smirk. In his eyes, if not his mouth. “You are too early, brother. We are not yet finished.” His breathing is a touch too heavy despite having performed no strenuous labor. “Unless you would like to assist us.”

“She is clean enough now. It is my turn to attend to her.”

Brothers of Prime rarely argue with one another, the swiftest way to awaken his wrath. The assisting clones each take a towel and set to drying her off, one more thoroughly than the other. She flinches limply with every touch and the little brother catches a glimpse of her profile, eyes closed. There is a device in her mouth to keep her from biting and speaking, though it cannot stifle the noises she makes when they touch her.

“The other has already seen to that,” he says, as one tries to towel off between her legs. “Do not waste time.”

“Apologies.” The clone unbinds her and moves her arms behind her back, just one of their hands large enough to clasp both her wrists at the same time. He spins her around to face the little brother. “You are familiar with her, are you not?”

She opens her eyes and her slit pupils dilate at the sight of him. Yellow and blue. He knows that face.

_Below him, in submission. Above him, smug and defiant. Feelings of hope, pride, pain, and anger._

“By which I mean, you were one of the brothers attacked this morning?” That is not what he means, but he is forbidden to speak of the things washed away in the purification pool.

Tears stream from mismatched eyes.

_So much anger._

NO! He has been cleansed of all that. Prime said he would be tested - he cannot fail.

He looks away and grunts, “All will be forgiven.”

The other clone holds up a pile of folded garments, red and black. “Lord Prime has declared she will wear her old clothing for the ritual, to be replaced once she is reborn. They have been rigorously laundered, of course.” Her garments are very different from their own. Asymmetrical, too many pieces, too many holes. Even the stoic one cannot help but display confusion as he holds up a long black tube.

“That appears to be a glove,” says the one holding the sister. He bends her over the table, pinning her there with his body instead of the many restraints available. The other extends one of her arms and places the black sock over it. It is obvious even before that this is not the correct placement.

The little brother snatches the clothing pile from the clone’s arms and holds up two smaller black pieces. “ _These_ are her gloves.” One is much longer than the other, but it is not difficult to tell what they are.

It takes the two of them many more minutes to get just one on her: one clone making obtuse suggestions while pressed up against her, the other demonstrating no capacity for critical thought. She lays there limp as a doll. The little brother has no intention of watching them figure this out for Prime knows how long.

“Enough!" He shouldn't speak to his brothers this way, but he fears his temper will get him in trouble if he has to suffer them any longer. "I will take care of it later. Just … put her somewhere for me.”

“Where would you like her? The table, the rack, the pillory?”

“A chair, _obviously._ ” At this point he has half a mind to just move her himself, though the thought makes his skin crawl. "Quickly now."

There’s only one thing in the chamber that could technically be called a chair. Like everything else, it is minimalist white and covered in glowing green restraints. It is an unusual chair in the way pieces of it can rotate and move to restrain the penitent in all sorts of different ways. There is a keypad with buttons for standard poses, as well as options for custom settings. They cuff her into the most basic sitting position, which still seems more suited for a medical exam than a haircut. With no option to restrain a tail, it curls around to cover what it can.

“We will leave the hose at hand, in case you need to clean her up again - of hair clippings.” Shamelessly, the clone outright smiles, and not for the glory of Prime. There's something off about the way he holds the used towels draped over his arm in front of himself.

“Review your facial expressions and _get out_.” His words come out as a growl, a shameful verbal tic among his many imperfections. Beside him, the little sister gasps through her muzzle.

The one hands him a pair of shears, retrieved from the enormous rack at the far side of the room. They are shiny and edged in luminescent green. “Attend wisely, brother. Prime’s blessings upon you both.”

The other runs his claw though her hair, inciting another whimper as they snag. “She is so snarled and matted, you may have to just shave the poor creature." He takes a towel and wipes the tears from her face, his voice slipping back into what is known as their 'hospitality cadence'. “This brother will attend to you now, little one. Alone, as he has so fervently demanded.” She recoils, turning her head in the little brother's direction. Yellow and blue.

_In the halls of the Velvet Glove, not long ago, she smiles at him. Discomfort, melancholy, worry._

The little brother has to look away again and walk to another part of the room. 

_But no anger._

"We look forward to seeing you filled with the Light of Prime, little sister." With that, the fools finally leave.

* * *

He stands behind her, shears in hand, trying to evaluate without triggering the visions again. Most of this rat's nest will have to go to meet the Horde grooming standards. She has so much more hair than his brothers he isn’t sure where to begin. The most important thing is to uncover the nape of her neck, but he will eventually have to look at her face to make her presentable enough for Prime’s glory.

Steeling himself, he steps around the chair to face her. Her eyes are closed, her chest heaving. She is trembling, indicating a below optimal body temperature. He sets down the shears and removes his cloak. As he leans over her, she opens her eyes wide and makes the most hideous sound yet.

_A dark room. She kneels before him, terrified. Another wants him to harm her._

Her shrieks cut through the unwanted visions. Maybe if she is able to speak she will be less inclined to make those noises. He removes the device from her mouth and her screams turn to whimpers.

“... please don't ...”

_He chooses mercy._

Prime must have been in him then. No one would kneel to him alone.

He tries to speak softly, as Prime would. “Fear not ... sister.” Perhaps in her wretched state, she will not like the “little” adjective. “It is Lord Prime’s will that I cut your hair, to prepare you for your purification ritual.” He finishes covering her, taking care that his skin does not touch hers, and steps back. Her ears unflatten.

“Just get it over with.” She lets her head fall back, then groans. “Fucking mirrors on the ceiling.”

_A staircase. She ascends to face him, two ... others at her side. Her confidence impresses him, but he is unsure._

“Please do not use coarse language.” Using the keypad, he adjusts her legs and arms to a position to better preserve body heat, as well as the height and recline. Bodily discomfort is sometimes helpful in dealing with lower lifeforms, but not for this task. “I would dress you first, but I see no way to get your clothes on without unbinding you, and no way to unbind you without subjecting myself to your claws.” The back of his neck still aches.

“That must be so hard for you.” This is called 'sarcasm', a thing he knows the definition of.

_Someone speaks for her, he listens. Surprise, curiosity, hope._

He is permitted a smile to put guests at ease, but it seems to have the opposite effect as he circles around her. “I apologize for the restraints, but at the moment you are as much a danger to yourself as you are to any of us. Sedation is not a possibility, as you must be clear-headed for the ritual to have optimal results.”

“Got it.”

He takes the shears and approaches her from behind. “I will begin now, sister.” Hair is not skin, he can do this. She flinches as he takes a lock of it between his fingers. 

_Snip._ She sniffles as the first lock falls, then takes a deep, shaking breath. _Snip._

She swallows and breathes deep again before speaking. “It’s you, isn’t it? - Don’t worry, I won’t say your name again.”

 _Snip snip._ “It is wrong to have a name.”

“I’ve heard.” Her voice quivers. “Sorry about that, by the way. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even you.” The cloak slips down off her chest and she tenses up even to the roots of her hair.

Without taking his eyes off his task, he pulls it back up. “I do not know what offense you speak of, but all will be forgiven, sister.” _Snip._

“Y-You're not gonna do it, are you?" She tries to look back at him and her ear brushes his hand. "You wouldn’t.”

“Please hold still.” He pauses to steady himself. “Do what, sister?”

She jerks her body, causing the chair to swivel just enough in his direction. The cloak slips again as she twists to look at him.

_Two of her. One leaning affectionately on the other’s shoulder. Confusion, suspicion, wonder. Is she a clone as well?_

“Even at your worst, you never _touched_ me. With your body. Shadow Weaver said I only made Force Captain because you wanted to fuck me, but you never even tried.” Language. “You don't like touching. Not like Prime.”

Her words create a strange feeling in his stomach. The side of his face feels hot. “It is a blessing to be touched by Lord Prime.”

“And your sickfuck brothers? Were they ‘blessing’ me?”

“Language, sister! The one was behaving defectively, and the other should have noticed and reprimanded him. I will report them both for inspection.” He pulls the cloak back up and rotates her away from him. “Their behavior was not Prime’s will.”

“He sure as fuck didn’t stop them.”

 _Snip._ _Snip._ _Snip._ The little brother exhales his frustration. It is time to do the front of her hair. Perhaps willingly exposing himself to the visions will desensitize him.

“Prime sees all … but some things he sees more than others.” He swivels the chair to face him and looks her straight-on in the eye. “I will not let them touch you again.”

Her pupils dilate as she stares back, her ears turning forward. Yellow and blue.

_The world crashes down around them. Devastation, despair, an aching in his chest. She takes his arm, for some reason made of metal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a popular headcanon that Entrapta is touch averse, but I get that vibe more from Hordak who doesn't touch anyone except Imp (and Entrapta when he saved her from the explosion.) His aggression is usually about yelling at people to "get out" of his room and he prefers to fight standing 20 feet away from his enemies. This is the opposite of Prime, who likes luring people in to get handsy with them.


	3. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Violence, attempted suicide, references to sexual abuse

The little sister stares up at the little brother. Her tail has moved from a protective stance to slowly swishing back and forth behind her. He feels as though he might have made a crack in her metaphorical armor, though he’s not sure how.

_They stand together overlooking an army. Excitement, triumph, admiration._

“It is time to do the front of your hair now,” he says. It seems best to give a warning before leaning over her again. "Do not be startled, I will not harm you."

She scoffs. “Oh yeah, you'd _never._ ” Her face hardens into a defiant glare as he approaches her. “What is this? What do you - what does _Prime_ want? Why did he send you?”

_She strides into the room interrupting an … intimate … moment? Surprise, disappointment, resentment._

“Your guess is as good as mine. Sometimes he moves mysteriously.”

"Did he..." She glances over at the hose and back again, grimacing. "Send in the pervy one first to make you look better?"

"Sister." As he reaches for the hair that frames her face he is reminded of Horde Prime’s caresses. She doesn’t recoil, other than a twitch of her ears, but her eyes are like daggers. “You are so _angry_ , sister. I was angry once, too.” _Snip._

“I know.” She chuckles, mirthlessly. “... does this room have a suffocation machine?”

“I should hope not. That sounds barbaric.” _Snip._ There are traces of grey at the front of her hair which seems unusual for someone of her species’ age. Perhaps just feline pigmentation. “Horde Prime washed away my anger and gave me Peace. He can do the same for you, if you will open yourself to his Light.”

Unmoved, she shudders. “Why doesn’t he just kill me? I can’t help him anymore. Nobody on Etheria gives a fuck about me—” The repeated use of that word would ordinarily stoke his temper, but her pitiable state has kept it at bay. “I’m worthless!”

_She bursts into a room to protect someone he has no intention of harming. Annoyance._

“You are not worthless,” he says firmly. Her ears stand at attention. “All creatures great and small can be receptacles for Prime’s glory.”

She cringes, looking away as her ears fold back. Her tail swishes faster. “Does Prime ... come in here often?”

“He is always here, just not in his own vessel.” _Snip._ He swallows, glancing around the room. “He has similar - more elegant - instruments in his private chambers.”

“Yeah?” She raises what is called an ‘eyebrow’. “You go in there a lot?”

_She walks in on him in a state of undress. Embarrassment, anxiety, fear._

The heat returns to his face and his insides clench all the way up to his windpipe, but he forces his voice to keep steady. “Only the Purest are given that honor. After genesis or purification.”

Her eyes widen, then her raised eyebrows come together. “That’s fucked up.” There’s a notable change in tone.

_He meets her eyes in the purification chamber. Resignation, sorrow, hopelessness._

“Language, sister.” It will do no good, but it's all he can think to say.

Her tail curls back around to her front. When she speaks, her voice shakes. “Is Prime going to ‘bless’ me after I’m ...?”

The thought has not occurred to him. “I do not know.” He considers her, so small wrapped in his cloak. “I would think not. You are so much more fragile than my brothers and I.”

This does not seem to reassure her. She shrinks away from him, closing her eyes and saying nothing. He continues in silence, feeling like a failure.

_A blast knocks her off her feet. He catches an arrow before it strikes him in the eye._

_Snip snip snip._ “It is finished, sister.”

She examines her reflection in the glass above them. “Not bad, actually. Better than Shadow Weaver could ever do.” There’s a smile on her face, but it does not meet her eyes. Her pupils have contracted very small.

“Hopefully, it will be to Lord Prime’s liking as well.” He turns to replace the shears on the rack of instruments, then remembers he should clean them first. As he reaches for the nearest dispenser of sanitizing wipes, she speaks up behind him.

“So ... is this hair thing your revenge for Entrapta?”

_She rips the heart out of his chest._

* * *

The shears crumple in his hand. He drops them and they stick upright in the rubber flooring. His chest aches as he struggles to control his breath. His right arm burns with some phantom sensation.

Slowly, he turns to face her, and his voice comes out as a primal growl, “... what did you say?”

She laughs. A wicked, mocking, familiar laugh. “You almost had me fooled there. So peaceful, so zen.” Her ears twitch. “But there is nothing in the universe that could ever fix you, _Hordak_.”

_She rips it out again. The sky above crashes down on him._

Hordak screams and puts his fist through the nearest object, which happens to be the keypad for the chair. It shatters and sparks, giving him a shock. Her shackles release.

_Rage swallows up all other feeling._

The cloak falls as she dives for the dropped shears. His body moves faster than his mind and lunges after her. Weapon in hand, she doesn’t aim for him, she points it toward herself. He catches the blades and wrenches them out of her grasp. She’s stronger than she looks, but hardly strong enough.

“Defect!” She rakes her claws against his chest, exposing his scars and the sternum port that shouldn’t be there. “Failure! Worthless!”

_She runs on all fours chased by fire and fury. He will destroy her, then give her to Prime._

He pins her down so she can’t use her claws on either of them. His hand grips the skin of her ungloved wrist. He could crush her beneath him, tear her to pieces. Startled, she looks down where his body weighs down on hers. She makes the sound again.

The sound his soul makes every time someone touches him.

_Above him, she sits upon a throne and crosses her legs, looking not unlike Prime himself._

He puts a hand around her throat. Just one, skin on skin, not unlike the one that has seized him so many times. She doesn't fight it, but a familiar terror has returned to her eyes.

_A red room. She gasps for air._

No, that will not do. Prime needs her alive. 

_**“If words fail you, there are other ways to guide her.”**_ He needs her … broken. As broken as he was when he walked into that pool.

_The staircase. He descends to face her. She mocks him in front of a crowd. Anger, shame, wounded pride._

A tear rolls down the side of her face, he’s not sure if it’s hers or his own. They both breathe. His hand is still at her throat but he hasn’t squeezed yet. 

_He wishes to harm her, but … something … encircles her. To stay his hand. Something … purple?_

She makes a different noise.

_A cardboard box on industrial steps. Strange ... mewling from within. It is, objectively, the most soul-piercing sound in the universe. Terrifying. There’s something scrawled on the side._

“Catra.” She has a name. It brings a different sense of peace.

_**“Even you can be big brother to the littlest among us.”** _

* * *

Hordak rolls off of her. The two of them lay reflected above, side by side. Both of them are covered in hair clippings. “You should have gotten out when I gave you the chance.” 

“W-what?”

He sits up and grabs the dropped cloak, throwing it over her. “I sent you away, once.”

“That was a suicide mission - you wanted me to die!” She clutches her newly shorn hair, quite a mess now, though his own is as well. “That’s what you said!”

“I do not remember what I said.” He rises to his feet, leaving her on the floor.

“Did you know I would survive the Crimson Waste?” She hugs the cloak to herself. “I just thought you were an idiot!”

“I just wanted you _gone_ ,” he growls. “Why did you come back?”

“I wanted to hurt Adora.” That name. Prime is obsessed with her too, but he can remember nothing of this person. Catra’s voice cracks, “And I wanted to prove myself. To you.”

There’s a word for this newfound sense of clarity. Something he knew only by definition until this moment. “My approval is worthless.” He sets her clothes in front of her, then turns away so that she can dress herself, even though there is no part of her he has not seen at this point.

“Yeah! I know that now!”

Hordak keeps his eyes averted, but stays nearby should she try to hurt herself again. It would seem the impulse has passed, that it passed as soon as he put his hands on her. He touches the port she exposed on his chest. “We would not be here if you hadn't come back.”

She hisses. He turns to see her dressed, except for the socks. Her tail bristles up behind her. “We wouldn’t be here … if YOU hadn’t chosen to come back to THIS.” She gestures wildly, but doesn’t come any closer. “Nobody forced you! You could have just been free and… HAPPY. I couldn't have done what I did if YOU hadn't given me the power and - if you hadn't - _made_ me this way - you and that _monster_ you let raise me!”

 _ **“You will know what to do when the time comes.”**_ Too weary now to police his blasphemous thoughts, he does know - but Prime did not. His words will not fail him.

“You are right,” he says. “I am sorry, Catra. You deserved better.”

It is as if those mismatched eyes might pop out of her skull. She bursts into tears, falling to her knees. Wailing, yowling, mewling, scratching the floor. It is uncomfortable. Not how Prime intended him to break her, but she should be broken enough for him now.

When her sobs quiet down enough for her to hear him, he crouches in front of her. "There is nothing else I can do but admit my own failure, as a ... a brother. But my power over you is gone and your fate lies in the Hands of Prime now." His hand hovers above hers but he cannot bring himself to touch her again. “You must enter the pool of your own accord. It will be less painful that way ... and afterwards, there will be no more pain.”

“Hordak…” she murmurs into the floor. “She might still be alive.”

No. He does not want to know what she means. The memory that broke him and will break him again. “It is too late for the both of us, Catra.”

“Glimmer told me that Adora went to save her … and who else could fly a fucking spaceship?” She stands in front of him. “It's not too late. Maybe we … maybe we can find a way out of here.” She extends a tiny hand as if she'd even be able to lift him. Despite her glove, the skin of her fingertips is still exposed. “You and me?”

Her words are drowned out by the rising voices in his head. Pain shoots through the nape of his neck.

 **“Oh, little sister ...”** His mouth moves of its own accord, his hand crushing hers as he pulls her down. He sees the terror again in her eyes as she freezes in his arms. **“There is nowhere in the known universe for us to go.”**

* * *

The little brother awakes in the purification pool, blinding white light fading to luminescent green. His cloak is missing and the front of his robe is slashed through.

There are no chanting brothers this time. Only Prime ... and a little sister dressed in white. A metal talon pets her short hair, now slicked back like her brothers. It looks terrible, but displays the chip on the nape of her neck serviceably. His own hair falls in his eyes.

Her eyes are now a Peaceful, empty green. He doesn’t remember what color they were before. He does remember his body carrying her across the threshold to this very room. And the screams.

“Hello, big brother.” It sounds strangely formal coming from her mouth, though he’s not sure what he’s comparing it against. This time it is she who steps forward to help him out of the pool. He takes her outstretched hand, no longer gloved. She doesn’t let go, even as they stand before Prime.

**“Greet your sister with a kiss, little brother.”**

She stares up at him with a placid smile, unblinking. He leans down, stiffly, and brushes his lips against her forehead. Only one of them recoils, and it is not her.

 **“How beautiful to see a family reconciled.”** Prime cups each of their faces at once. His shoulders are broad enough to enfold the both of them together. **“And we will have other sisters on this ship soon. More _hairs to cut._ The two of you will help me welcome them.”**

She squeezes his hand, just a bit too tight. “Will you be in need of a rejuvenation treatment before then, Oldest Brother?”

Prime smirks at her, looking like something of a cat himself. The little brother has never noticed such a thing before, but in all his glory Big Brother does look a little tired. The four eyes turn their attention to him. **“The ritual was a success, but I am concerned that our little sister’s presence may be a ... ‘distraction’ to some of your less pure brothers. You will need to watch over her, see that she does not provoke them to stray - and that her chip remains functional. A willful creature such as this can still attract trouble even while under the Horde's Guidance.”** He scratches her ear and she leans into his touch. **“I need her to be in one piece when She-ra arrives.”**

“I will watch over her, Lord Prime, as you have commanded." Though, he is not sure what this vacant shell is going to provoke anyone to do. "Is there anything else you would ask of us?”

 **“Purest of siblings ...”** Prime’s eyes rove over the two of them and their interlocked hands. He smooths back the little brother’s hair, then touches his own face. **“Locate two suitable Life Force donors and have them prepared for extraction. My vessel is in need of rejuvenation.”** The doors open behind him and he leaves the two of them alone in front of the pool.

Gently, the brother squeezes his sister’s hand. Her touch does not repulse him the way such things usually would, though the reason why has been lost to him. For a fleeting moment the green of her eye in profile looks almost yellow. Together, the two of them leave the purification pool behind.


End file.
